


Wings that Crippled the Angel

by PinkKittyKat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Caution, F/F, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, My First Fanfic, Please Make sure you are Mentally prepared Before Reading this, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, TW: Suicide, Very Heavy, tw: self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 00:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkKittyKat/pseuds/PinkKittyKat
Summary: Doctor Angela Ziegler is finally crushed under the weight that has been sewn onto her back in the shape of a pair of wings. Moira O'Deorain is the geneticist with little regard for the rules who knows the weight that Angela has been trapped under, she just hopes that she can clip those wings fast enough.





	Wings that Crippled the Angel

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first writing I'm posting on here, I haven't written many fanfics and I've never tackled something so emotionally impactful and dark so please let me know if I could do certain things better! This fanfic was heavily inspired by the work 'Hallowed by Thy name' written Tah the Trickster and Xhuuya https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956106/chapters/29617008 , so go give it some love!

Cold. It was too cold, Angela thought as she gripped the coat that draped over her shoulders in what should have been a warming embrace. The thick fabric offered her no warmth, as neither did her thoughts as she stared blankly into the sunset as it dazzled across the sky in Gibraltar, into the abyss of her life. It was a beautiful thing, an apt last image to sear into her mind. She wondered where it all began to spiral down into this dark pit which was so familiar to her, yet she knew the answer, it was because of something she couldn’t escape, her own mind. 

She recounted her early morning, the drum of her heart as she stirred herself from her bed. She recounted how many hours of sleep she must have gotten, doing the math would show she got 3 which was generous for the doctor. She remembered entering the medical wing of the base, bright-eyed with her hair turned up in her classic ponytail, a smile as she greeted those who were awake at the early hour. She was as Angela as ever, her most authentic self, because in her heart she knew that soon she would be enveloped in nothing more than darkness. She woke up this morning happy, because today was the day she would no longer be Mercy, she was no longer going to be the hero of Overwatch, she was going to be just another body in the basement morgue of the base. A chilling thought to an already numb soul. She recalled that she had left her last will and testament along with a note just inside her room, it was staring her in the face this morning as she left it on the small coffee table along her signature halo.

The weight of the wings had crippled her back, the persona of ‘Mercy’, the angel of Overwatch, their guardian was just that: a persona. A mask she wore to fit into the public’s hearts and to keep the morality of the soldiers in the medical bay up, as who wouldn’t trust her with her life. But Angela wasn’t Mercy, at least not anymore.

Mercy was created when she first joined Overwatch, when her talents for healing others and her intellect were put to work in creating the Caduceus staff and her Valkyrie suit. At first, she was excited. She was going to be a field medic, just as she had been in the past and just as she had hoped. She was going to heal wounded soldiers and bring fallen ones back to their feet with a smile on her face, inspire those around her to lend a healing hand as well. Unfortunately, war does not favor the kind-hearted, and the Caduceus staff was not the only weapon given to her in Overwatch.

The first time she took a life was seared into her memory. She was out on a mission with several operatives, when she had gotten separated between walls. While communicating to her team for them to come back to give her the line of sight needed to activate her Guardian Angel ability, she found that an enemy Talon operative was closing in on her with an assault rifle. The bullets pierced through her midsection, the pain just a dull memory now, and the Talon agent moved to her to put one between her eyes. She had been trained for this, she had the reactions necessary, but training never prepared her for the next moment.

She lifted her blaster from the holster on her side, her eyes wide in pain and fear for her life as she began rapidly firing at the enemy. She hit him several times before landing a shot right in his throat, ceasing his movements and throwing him to the ground as if he was nothing more than a doll dropped by a child. 

Cold. Her body froze on the spot, blood that had once been pouring from her side was now trickling as her internal nanities went to work healing their host. She stared at the body before her, her gun raised and her foot forward in the firing stance before it registered what she had done. She dropped the blaster onto the ground and screamed in terror, quickly going to the side of her enemy in a feeble attempt to mend his wounds. As she touched his body, her own shook with intensity as the blood coated her hands; she looked to her palms, seeing the brilliant crimson that stained her. Her hands had stained with blood, her first kill. It wouldn’t be her last either.

Missions came and went since then, and Mercy continued, healing her teammates and killing the enemy should the need arise. Indeed, she had gotten to the point where she had seen so much life and death, that she could now freely control it.

She could control it.

She could, even with herself.

She threw down her coat and let the chilled air fully embrace her body as she cursed herself within her mind. She wasn’t a god. She never wanted to be an angel. Angela had the intellect to know what was happening to her, how her life as a field medic had affected her mind but she never took the time to properly look at herself, she just threw herself back into the next fight, secretly hoping that she wouldn’t come out of this one alive.She was a doctor, she wanted to help those in need but no one knew exactly what that entailed for her. Well, except for one person, one of the better kept secrets of Overwatch.

Moira O’Deorain: the devil herself as she was more commonly known around the base. Many held a distinct distaste for the scientist’s questionable experiments and seemingly innate morals, Angela included herself on that boat at one point as well. Moira was driven to the point of obsession with her thirst for knowledge and progression, but Angela knew all too well the power of obsession. It was obsession that put her in the Valkyrie suit, it was obsession that crafted the Caduceus staff, it was obsession that had her standing at the edge of a cliff hundreds of meters up in the air over crashing waves and sharp rocks. An obsession to save people. But some people can’t be saved.

The two doctors were almost hostile towards each other in the beginning, almost 6 years ago now, with verbal punches and slaps being thrown at the other merely on sight. Moira would openly berate the younger over her, what she called, a lack of conviction. The geneticist felt as though Angela’s true potential was wasted in the barracks, that she was holding herself back by doing things so - slowly. Angela was also a scientist, with intellect that rivaled Moira’s, so of course she would never take these degrading remarks sitting down. She would always return the favor by referencing Moira’s own flawed morals, her failed researches, the lack of funding, anything she could say to make it sting. It never worked. Angela never saw her face twinge in anger like she wanted it to, instead she always kept a neutral, antagonizing gaze on the younger. Sometimes she would even smirk at her, making the rage in Angela’s own heart blaze. 

It seemed to be another one of the days in which Doctor O’Deorain was insistent on ruining Angela’s evening. The sky was grim with clouds pouring rain in the april afternoon, spring definitely but one of the more depressive days in which everything growing is drowned. Angela was working in her own laboratory, those she shared the lab with were doing their own work at neighboring desks or fume hoods, some were working at tables with more mechanical pieces to continue to perfect the Valkyrie suit. As she stood there, fixated on her hands so that she would not shake the test tube too much, she heard the door behind her slide open, and a pair of all-to-familiar leather shoes began their trot over to her workstation until they stopped just feet behind the Swiss woman.

“Ziegler.” The elder huffed, looking down at the woman who held a syringe and a test tube within her hands.

“Doctor O’Deorain, to what do I owe the displeasure?” The blonde retorted, putting the tube down on a rack and laying the syringe down flat at the work table in her lab.

“I understand that you have, yet again, pushed back the date for human trials on your latest research,” Moira stood, tall and proud as ever with her hands behind her back, her high-collared lab coat over her shoulders buttoned on top of a black dress shirt and a velvet red tie, “When are you going to commit to your work and stop wasting time?” She asked, the disdain in her voice prevalent.

Angela sighed and rubbed her temples, “Unlike you, O’Deorain, I actually care if my volunteers make it out of the trial run alive. No human trials will be done until I am 100% confident that they will pose no life-threatening side effects.”

“Ha.” The elder chortled, taking a step closer and leaning down over the woman who she towered above, “If we always waited until we were 100% confident in results, there would be no results to speak of. Nothing would get done in this world. Your ‘do no harm’ policy is keeping you from truly reaching the potential of your research, Mercy.”

That name. That damn name. She wasn’t Mercy when she was in the lab, she was Doctor Angela Ziegler and the only thing that name served to do her here was make her body rage out with pent up anger and hatred. Angela’s hand was brought down onto the taller woman’s cheek, a slap rang through the laboratory as the angel’s brows furrowed in anger, her mouth curled back to bare her teeth with a grunt, “You will address me as Doctor Ziegler, O’Deorain.” She demanded, keeping her position with her left hand across her chest from when she slapped her elder worker. “I have abandoned that policy years ago, but my morality will do well to keep me from hurting anyone else. I could always make an exception for you though Doctor, if you’re interested in being my test subject.” 

Moira’s face was turned to the side, her cheek baring the red imprint of a hand as her eyes were wide with surprise. She never expected the good doctor to get violent, but, oh, how she loved to make Angela react, and this was quite the reaction. She smirked, turning her gaze back to Angela’s blue eyes. She crossed her right arm over her waist and bent down, bowing to the medic in a polite gesture.

“My apologies Doctor Ziegler, I will be sure to leave that word out of my vocabulary when I speak to you next.” She said, that godforsaken smirk still plastered on her conniving face. Moira delighted in finding out what made Angela tick, and making the other react in such a way was truly worth the momentary sting even if it did paint her pale cheek red. Moira turned and left the laboratory, leaving a huffing and infuriated Angela Ziegler in her wake, along with very many surprised and alarmed coworkers who Angela advised to go back to work and disregard what had just happened. Despite being the one who delivered the slap, Angela felt like she was the only one who felt any sort of pain in that situation.

This was how many of their interactions went. Moira tested Angela, Angela reacted and Moira got what she came for before leaving, an angry Angela behind her who wondered if it would ever end.


End file.
